


H is for Humiliation

by viceroy



Series: Viceroy's kink alphabet [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: BDSM as punishment, Forced Drug Use, Humiliation, Jason is not a good guy here, M/M, Rape as Revenge, Sex Tape, it's rape, seriously, that's all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroy/pseuds/viceroy
Summary: The Red Hood had only one rule: Don't mess with kids.Unfortunately he's discovered the Black Mask broke that rule a few months before he returned to Gotham.





	H is for Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> Done as part of my kink alphabet series. Original anon asked for humiliation with Black Mask and Jason. Not sure if this is specifically what they wanted, but I tried my best. Anywho, this fic is nothing but noncon, so if it doesn't tickle your fancy, leave now because beyond this warning, I don't give a fuck about what you like or dislike.

It was hot in the penthouse that evening; so much so that Roman Sionis was drenched in sweat and decidedly uncomfortable. He tried shifting, but his limbs felt restrained. Something likely a side effect of his half-awake status but bothersome enough that the uncomfortable feeling of his own skin caused him to squirm as his heart began to beat in a panicked staccato.

“Oh, look who’s finally come back to the land of the living!”

Roman snapped to at the sound of the voice. Electronically distorted, but with enough ease to have him instantly recognize who it is. “Red Hood,” he spat out as he forced his eyes open. Sure enough, standing in the middle of his penthouse master bedroom was his enemy and rival in crime, dressed in the crimson helm and biker gear that had become synonymous with his name.

“So _glad_ you remember who I am!” the man piped up, taking a few steps closer to the bed. Glowing white eyes peered down at Roman. “Now, the last few weeks have been pretty hectic, what with Blüdhaven blown to shit and the world almost coming to an end, but I hope you didn't think I’d forgotten about _you_ , sweet cheeks.”

_Sweet cheeks?_ Sionis growled at the insult and flung himself at Hood, but only got a few inches before his arms locked and he slumped forward. With a quick glance, he saw his wrists were shackled to chains which wrapped around his bed posts and moved on to a point he couldn't see. “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you, you fucking shit!”

“Promises, promises, Romey boy. Do I gotta remind you that not once in your miserable life have you actually managed to pull it off.” The helmet cocked to the side for a moment. “And do I really have to remind you that you're not really in a position to make threats? Especially after what I heard about you through the grapevine, too.”

“The fuck are you talking about, psycho?” Roman spat out.

“Oh, come on. You might be a shitbag, but you aren't dumb.” The Hood stopped for a moment before gloved hands moved to press buttons on either side of the helmet, and with a small click, it came loose enough for the man to clear it from his head. Underneath was someone young with raven hair, damp with sweat. His eyes were obscured by a domino mask, and before he could make out what color they were, white lenses slid down. If Roman wasn't an idiot, he’d say the guy was a teenager.

“I’m sure you know from the spies you keep hoping I don't notice in my operation—I do notice, by the way. It's surprising how shit your men are, really.” The hood smirked and sat on the edge of the bed, just out of kicking range. Not that it’d help. His legs were shackled as well. How the fuck did this kid manage all this without him waking up? “The point is, I know that _you_ know that I only have one cardinal rule. That rule being: don't sell to kids. Don't recruit kids. Don't _hurt_ kids. See where I’m going with this, yet?”

“The fuck do you care?” He almost stuttered as his thoughts started racing, trying to piece together what the fuck the Hood was on about, but he couldn't focus, not with the turning of his gut, or the roll of sensation across his body.

“Oh, I care a lot, Mister Sionis. You see, a few months ago, before my grand debut, you had a little uprising of your own. Killed Orpheus, took apart the Gotham Underworld, and made a nice claim to the city when you were done. But, you see, buddy, this isn't the first time we tangoed, even if you don't recognize me.” The Hood grinned then, though contempt soured any humor there. “You had help. Observe.”

With a flourish, he brought Roman’s attention to his TV set at the opposite side of the room, where a DVD idle screen flicked lazily back and forth across the display. Picking up a remote, the Hood pressed a button, and the screen came to life with the sounds of screams and the desperate face of a teenage girl, bloody and broken. “Stephanie Brown happened to underestimate you in her own bid to take down crime in Gotham for good. So you beat her, got any information you could out of her, and then left her for dead.” The Hood shook his head and stopped the gruesome display. With another push of a button, the screen changed, and from what he could see was like a mirror image.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Roman demanded again, writhing now as once again another wave of sensation both unpleasant and so overwhelmingly good that he couldn't suppress the groan that came with it.

The Hood ignored him. “She did die, by the way. Sixteen, Sionis. Not even an adult, yet, and you killed her. Left her to die.”

“She was a goddamn cape! Any one of us would have done the—“

“Do _not_ lump me in with the likes of you!” The man roared in Roman’s face, suddenly _right there_ punching him hard enough in the gut that Roman fell over, unable to recover soon enough to retaliate. “The only people in this town dumb enough to actually _kill_ kids, let alone one of the Bat’s kids, are the ones like Zsasz or Joker.” He paused, and his voice went treacherously low. “And I guess you.”

With that, the Hood’s voice returned to normal. “Normally, I’d just kill you. Maybe do it slowly, painfully, so that it's all you’re thinking about when you finally get that sweet release, but no. Not only did you tape a snuff film of a fucking _kid_ , but you fucking sent out the tapes to _gloat._ Not even the Joker did that, and he actually managed to kill Robin years before you even mattered. So here’s what's gonna go down.”

He appraised Roman for a moment before standing up, divesting himself of jacket, armor, and undershirt. From a pocket a worn ski mask surfaced and the Hood stuffed his head into it. “You're going to live tonight. But come tomorrow night, it won't matter. You’ll be the laughingstock of Gotham. Anyone smart enough will come working for me, and what I can't handle, I’m sure Cobblepot or Genovese will be more than glad to nab up. And, ah! Looks like the drugs are kicking in!”

“The fuck did you give me?!” Roman raged, twisting himself to no avail.

“Oh, nothing you aren't peddling already. Just meth.” Roman’s eyes went saucer wide and the Hood chuckled. “What? Good enough for your customers, but not you? Well, just so you know what's going on, your adrenaline and endorphins are flooding your system right now. So you're probably experiencing the best high of your life. Gave you more than a few rocks.” As he spoke, he moved away from Roman and pulled a black bag from the side of the bed. “Slept right through it, too. That won't be a problem for a minute, though. You won't be able to sleep for at least a day once the tweak kicks in.”

“You bastard,” Roman cursed as the Hood unzipped the bag. “Whatever you got planned for me, it's gonna be ten times worse for you!”

The Hood just clucked his tongue. “Highly doubt it. Wish I could listen to your little fantasies a little more, but I’m on a schedule. You ready, big guy?”

“What?”

“I asked you if you were fucking _ready_!” A hard slap accentuated the Hood’s words and Roman grunted, biting back a hiss as the mask threatened to tear free from the points it had fused on his face. Stars exploded across his vision and he blinked for a few seconds. As his vision cleared, the Hood worked on the fastening of his robes and pulled it away as far as it could go. Revulsion coursed through Sionis and he tried to move away from his captor. The Hood just laughed, his pitch higher than it had been, now completely unrecognizable from the same tone he’d been using before.

“Know what? It doesn't goddamn matter. You're paying me for this bullshit, we’re moving at my pace.” He stood again and began rummaging through the bag.

“ _Your_ pace? You little shit, I’m gonna—“ _crack!_ Roman howled and flinched before he saw the source of his pain. In one hand the Hood swished a riding crop, tapping it against his own shoulder as he regarded Roman with a look of disgust.

“Keep your mouth fucking shut unless I specifically order it. You might be king of the streets, but in here, _I’m_ King, and you're just another little pussy boy. Like we all know you are. Understand?”

“Fuck yo-“ _Crack!_

“I asked if you _understood!_ ” The Hood leaned over Roman, one booted foot on the bed. “Answer the question!”

Sionis growled and made an attempt to head butt him, only to find that same boot now planted firmly against his chest, forcing him down. “You can take your question and shove it up your-“ _Crack!_ This time it coincided with another wave of feeling, and the sensation of the crop spread across Roman’s body like wildfire. He groaned and squirmed against it, willing the feeling to go away.

“So we’re doing the brat thing today, huh?” The Hood slapped Sionis again, but this time with little feeling, more condescending than physically painful. “I can shift, boy.” He pressed down harder with that boot and Roman gasped before the force eased up. “Count ‘em out!” It was the only warning he got before that crop came down again, _hard._ And again. And _again._

All Roman could do was cry out at the pain, too lost in the high and the sting to comply, even if he wanted to. The Hood was relentless, slow enough in his strikes for Roman to feel the spreading pain, but without any sort of rhythm so he never got used to the lick of flames across his abdomen, his thighs, or his-

“I’m. Not. Hearing. Any. Fucking. Numbers!” Each word was accentuated by another strike and Roman couldn't help but jerk in response to each one, howling out his displeasure. “This doesn't end until I hear you counting, or your word, baby. So which one is it gonna be?”

Word? What the fuck was this loon even talking about? He couldn't process it with the pain. So with a sinking inside, Roman called out “One!”

_Crack!_ “Two!”

A chuckle from the Hood. “Restarting.” _Crack_ Roman howled his indignation. “I think you mean, one, _Sir_!”

“You’re fucking kidding me!” _Crack!_ With that one, it felt as if something broke in Roman. Nothing physical, to say, but emotionally was a different story entirely. He relented.

“One, _Sir!_ ”

“ _Good_ boy!” The Hood crowed, and made no other corrections as they made it through two, four, ten strikes. Finally the crop stopped. Roman's whole front felt like a furnace, and when he had strength enough, he looked at himself. He was practically glowing red at that point, and the Hood was gently stroking a path back and forth across his stomach, igniting a different fire altogether. “Aren't you going to thank me for your discipline?”

“The fuck should I—“ the crop raised again and before Roman could stop him self, he was bleating a frightened “Thank you, Sir,” at at the Hood.

“Now you're learning. You learn respect, you get what you want. That's the way this works, Roman.” The Hood tossed the crop away and removed the boot from his chest. Roman sighed in relief and allowed himself to relax, until his captor piped up once again. “Why, look at this! All that complaining and somehow you're as hard as a fucking rock.”

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but all that managed to slip out was a strangled noise, because, fuck it all, he _was._ “You talk all this big game, boy, but you can't hide what you like.” A rough hand closed around his cock and started stroking slowly. Sionis couldn't help but writhe, thrusting into that tight heat that promised release. “Deep down, under all that bluster, at the foundation of your whole empire, is a little fucking _slut_ waiting for someone to put him in line.” The Hood huffed out a small laugh, and he could feel the breath around his cock, so close. “Don't worry, though. I can definitely provide.”

But only if he was good.

\--

Tim was packing up his room in Titans Tower. Bruce had told him the plan about a week after the Black Mask was delivered to GCPD, buck naked and his blood stream coursing with meth. Afterward something of a regular status quo returned to the city as far as crime went. Nothing huge that the Birds of Prey couldn't handle alone was on the docket, and Babs swore that she would reach out if something major was taking place.

Months away from Gotham. Away from having to be the Dynamic Duo. Getting back to basics with Bruce and Dick. To let his injuries Jason had given him heal. To get some distance from the memories of his Dad and Steph. To give him some time to actually grieve and heal over the Crisis. Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

As he was getting the last box ready, his email chimed from his nearby laptop- the desktop had already been packed, courtesy of Vic and Gar. Curious, since nobody at school had bothered contacting him since Bruce formally took him in, and everyone else who had that info was downstairs.

He moved over to check his inbox. Only one message, with a file attachment.

_Subject: Sorry about almost killing you.  
From: Youknowwhothisis@fakemail.com_

_Hey, Timbo._

_Probably the last person you want to see an email from, but I heard about your buddy dying. And your girlfriend. Can't do anything about the first one, but I could re: Brown. Pretty sure you guys noticed by now that Black Mask is out of the picture. If you wanna know why it happened, check out the attachment. Give this to B if you like. Or don't. I don't care either way._

_You’re welcome,  
Jay_

Tim frowned and clicked the link. It took a bit to download, during which time his own curiosity began to build. But finally his media player sprang to life, and Tim was less than surprised to see Jason’s helmeted face fill the screen momentarily before pulling back.

A groan came out from the background, and Tim flinched when Jason moved and he could recognize Black Mask tied to a bed in what could be none other than his own penthouse. “Oh, look who’s finally come back to the land of the living!”

Tim shuddered as the tape played out, the honeyed threats Jason delivered striking exactly where they were meant to, his promise to exact revenge in Steph’s name. Everything that followed after. And when it was finally done, three men burst into the room, rough housing a shivering Sionis out as Jason reapplied his gear. When the others were gone, Jason strolled to the camera and picked it up so that only his face was visible.

“So now you know all the gory details. I'm sending a copy of this to all the big names still active after Sionis took over. People will be leaving him in droves. No one wants to work for the weak guy, right? I’m editing out anything that makes it look like it wouldn't be a sex tape that got leaked, but hey. I like a good challenge and I’m putting this in your hands. When Stephanie died, Bruce didn't lift a finger to stop the guy who did it. I managed to ruin him in an hour.”

The Hood sighed and looked away for a moment. Tim leaned in to the monitor, trying to catch what else may be going on. “Look, I know it's useless to try and get you to see that Batman’s no good for this city ever getting better. So I’m leaving you a choice: Give this to Bruce or Barbara and have them try to sort it out, or you can leave me be, and be happy with the fact that someone’s making a difference in this town. The choice is yours.” The video cut out then, leaving Tim in silence.

He deleted the video.


End file.
